Fable 104
by Oceans in Hand
Summary: A mysterious warlock offers to trade with Hero Doumeki Shizuka: the color of his eyes for five, unconditional favors. 104 DouWata, set in Fable: TLC universe.
1. Chapter 1

**Before you read: This fanfiction takes place in the world established in the video game, Fable: The Lost Chapters.**

**Fable 104, Chapter 1**

Doumeki Shizuka was a Hero, and while not a particularly famous one, he was known well enough. The people had taken to calling him the Archer, and he was easily told by the ebony longbow strapped across his back. He was tall and slim, and cut an intimidating figure in the murky night. His dark leather made him almost invisible then, and his exceptional stealth was undeniable.

It was in the middle of his twenty-second year that a small band of merchants hired him out to scout ahead of their group, and clear their future campsites of pests and bandits. The quest kept him away from the guild for two weeks, but supplied him with a tidy some of gold so he didn't much mind. One night as the moon rose, a cold rain began to fall, and fog blanketed the ground.

Doumeki wasn't overly fond of rain, and the damp fog reached his knees. He stumbled upon something peculiar while seeking cover: a path that wasn't on his map. The Archer weighed his chances- a bandit camp, or a lonely hut? Knowing his luck, the former for sure…

But even as he stood, undecided, a mischievous raindrop slithered into the neck of his shirt and teased a shiver from him. He decided then to take his chances, and wished for the best. Just in case, though, he unsheathed a darkly shining obsidian cleaver and gripped it tightly in both hands as he ventured further down the path, and around the bend.

It was a very short trail; at the end of it stood a small house. Firelight spilled from the windows, looking warmer and more inviting than anything he could remember seeing. A booth was set up near the door, and was draped with a deep purple cloth. A leaning fence framed the property, excepting where a large, thorny bush grew. A few feet beside it, a dried garden occupied the space behind the house.

Doumeki loosened his grip on his weapon. Surveying the clearing curiously, he approached the cottage and tried the door. It was locked.

He frowned at the doorknob in his hand. Locked? He hadn't even considered that. Gods, but the rain-

Then the Archer realized. He clearly heard the sound of falling sky water all around him, but-

It wasn't raining in the clearing.

Not at _all_.

Releasing the handle as if it burned, Doumeki stumbled away from the house. A witch! By Gods, he'd walked right up to a witch's home! That was _not_ the way to live a long and healthy life.

Doumeki, turning, decided that he'd rather deal with the rain.

But the mysterious road and the home at the end of it were both in his thoughts the next day as he traveled with the merchants. He did his best to fend them off, but it was like swatting mosquitoes while wadding through swampwater: tiring, irritating, and largely ineffective. They just kept _coming._

When he received the second half of his pay at the end of the two weeks, he finally gave up. This was not something that he did lightly. Besides losing a battle against his own _head_, he was putting the rest of himself in very serious danger of being hexed by a disgruntled caster.

This was foremost among his thoughts as he once again found himself journeying down the short, unnamed road. Even as his feet brought him steadily closer, he cursed the curiosity his grandfather had always told him would hasten his deathday. Halfway around the bend he drew to a halt, shook himself hard, and spun on his heel. _Stupid._

What, by the Gods' light, was so alluring about a lonely witch's hut?

His resolve to shut the book on this annoying puzzle lasted, unsurprisingly, for the length of his return to Bowerstone. It was in the pub there that he discovered the name of the clearing and lone structure from a woman whom he suspected of untoward intentions. Bending over his shoulder in a way that drew the eye to her impressive cleavage and flashing a smile that virtually dripped seduction, she scrawled the name in a whirling hand: _the Rose Cottage_. That same night he rose out of bed after a sleepless hour, suited up, and departed for the clearing.

The Rose Cottage he found completely untouched, a fact that somehow surprised him. The inviting glow was gone from the windows, though the door was still locked. Doumeki shifted, mildly unsettled.

He left a few minutes later, grinding his teeth, golden eyes flashing angrily in the occasional bolt of skylight that came through the canopy.

After that visit, he didn't return for almost a fortnight. When he did, he determined that he would stay until _something_ happened, something to shed an enlightening ray on this whole gloomy business. Stay until the door opened, or, or…

He stood firmly in the middle of the clearing for as long he could content himself with watching the portal. Which, as it was, wasn't very long. Doumeki could be surprisingly impatient at times. He stomped down the path, until he was sure he was out of sight from the house's windows, and promptly cut across and into the woods.

Doumeki disappeared.

Standing behind a tree twice the width of his waist, the Archer watched as, less than five minutes later the door opened, and what stepped out was the _last _thing he had expected.

It was a fox.

A true _behemoth_ of an animal, whiter than fresh snow and reminiscent of an amount of quicksilver he'd seen once. Nine tails swirled lazily behind the animal.

Doumeki guessed that the tops of the thing's ears cleared his hips, easy.

The fox's nose twitched rapidly as it scented out the area, lingering at the spot where he had stood. Its muzzle followed his trail down the path for a short distance, not even making the bend, before it, with a sneeze, turned for the cottage.

A light, accented voice that surprised the Hero with thoughts of autumn breezes and cracking fires came from the barely opened door.

_"Me'mios lezhwarei,_ Mugetsu?"

Doumeki's eyes narrowed at the foreign words. He'd never heard anything like them before.

The fox pressed its long nose through the split, and the door opened. The wizard stepped out.

But it couldn't be a wizard. The man was plainly too young to possess the experience necessary for one of the title. But he certainly wasn't a witch, and the spark in the air about him suggested greater power than which a common hedgewitch could claim.

So he was a warlock, then.

That decided, Doumeki moved on to observe other things. The jars in the warlock's arm, for instance, or the alien grace he displayed as he walked to stop before the booth. Flat, dark blue eyes swept the woods that ringed the clearing, hardening as they passed over the trail.

His appraisal complete, the warlock knelt and buried one hand in the thick fur around the fox's neck. He said something in a low voice to the animal, and the throaty, scratchy sounds again struck Doumeki as extraordinarily exotic.

The warlock laughed, and the Hero was still analyzing each lift and dip to the titter when a glob of fizzing, hissing blue powder struck him full in the face, and the world fell away.

* * *

**I'm jumping the gun a bit on this one, but I'm having trouble finishing, and I'm hoping this will help get the ball rolling again. I will post links to a map of the game world and part of the Wikipedia article, if you haven't played the game and want to read up a bit on it : ) Also, I'm posting chapters according to where I've left little "--" time breaks, so some updates may be pretty small.**

**-Oceans**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Doumeki had, in his life, in his career, come awake in a potentially hostile position once before. Thinking back to that embarrassing mishap, he kept his eyes closed when he came to.

His arms and legs were relaxed, but immobile. Considering the lack of physical binding, he blamed magic. His throat felt slick, slimy and smooth like a wet snake, and his eyes burned beneath his lids. As soon as he noted that minor discomfort, the sting increased. His jaw tightened to stop any noises he might make, as the sensation became steadily more painful, but he couldn't prevent his eyes from watering. Or that water from running out, over his cheekbones.

A thumb whipped away some of the moisture, and a soft coo drifted down from above.

"Open your eyes, Hero."

He obeyed without thinking, and inwardly cursed himself.

The warlock's blue eyes crinkled in amusement. The thumb moved lightly over his face. "Don't move. I've placed magical restraints on you, and you will hurt yourself if you struggle. Do not try to use magic, either, because it won't work…"

His words trailed off as his eyes flitted over the Archer's features. His other hand came up to join the first in mapping out his face by touch.

Doumeki fidgeted under the light caresses, suspicious and curious and uncomfortable all at once.

A growl came from the floor, where Doumeki spotted the monstrous white fox curled up and watching him with as much suspicion as the Hero felt _he_ owed the situation. Next to the animal--or rather, behind it--he saw his gear.

He didn't notice when the warlock's hands paused in their mission. The young man, apparently having followed his trail of vision, hummed, unconcerned.

"You don't have to worry." He said. Though his voice was hushed, it seemed obscenely loud in the single, dimly lit room. "I will let you go."

Doumeki worked his throat, preparing to give life to his doubts, and discovered that he couldn't. The warlock realized his trouble, and lowered a soft mouth to his ear, pressing his lips to the prone Archer's skin.

"_Lasaroz_. I forgot about that…"

And a finger, surprisingly strong, poked into the vulnerable flesh beneath his chin. A strange word that he instantly knew he would never be able to repeat fell from the young man's tongue like water, and he felt a sting.

The warlock sat up, taking his body heat with him, and smiled. His eyes twinkled. "Speak now, please. Tell me your name."

Doumeki wet his lips as he considered the spellworker. "Shizuka. Doumeki."

"I thought so…" he said to himself. The sunny smile came back, making the room seem brighter than before. "I am a man of my word; you will be released, but…First, I would like to…"

Doumeki watched, interested despite his predicament. It was the first time the warlock had exuded anything at all like unease.

He seemed to collect himself with a deep breath. "To make you a bargain.

"It calls for a bit of explaining." The warlock muttered, and gave an unsteady laugh. His hands balled into fists in his lap, one leg folded on the bed beside the Hero's thigh.

"I have a fascination with your eyes."

He blinked at that.

"What?" There was that laugh again. It wasn't at all like the first one he'd heard from the young man.

"Can you really blame me? Such a beautiful color…" He said dreamily, almost wistfully. "I...I had _heard_…around town, I do venture there ever once in a while, you know. But I never imagined…not in my truest _dreams_…the reality." He finished breathlessly. "I _want _them."

Doumeki froze with alarm and despair. His grandfather had been right about him; his damned curiosity was going to leave him blind.

"What if I don't want to give them?"

The air blew out of the young man. "What? Well, I didn't intend to take them for _nothing_-"

"No." Doumeki was getting tired of lying on his back. He began to fight to sit up, having forgotten the caster's warning against just such a thing. "Payment is not an issue. You want to gouge my eyes from my head? Even if I _could_ make my living without seeing-"

"No!" The warlock was horrified. "Oh no, no, not at _all!_ Why would I- no! Gods, all I want is the _color!_"

Doumeki eyed him suspiciously, relaxing his efforts. "How would you go about doing a thing like that? Taking the color of my eyes?"

"Simple magic." He pressed, as if the Archer needed convincing which, he probably did. "A spell my _aohola_ left me, my teacher. It will take some of the vision from your eyes, but leave you most of it, I promise."

He shook his head, no. "I am first and foremost an archer; always have been. My eyes, my vision, is my business."

The young man sucked on his bottom lip, distressed. "I haven't made my bargain yet; what I would give in return. Perhaps that will change your mind?"

"Most likely not."

As he turned his face away in a sharp motion Doumeki caught sight of a glimmer of tears. He did feel sorry for him, for a young spellworker who didn't seem to understand that it was through his eyes that he made his livelihood, and that he simply could not part with them-

"What about one?"

The Archer surfaced from his thoughts, frowning at the caster's persistence. "I've told you-"

A hand pressed over his lips, silencing him. "No, please listen!I will give you five favors- five." He held out as many fingers. "Five favors from one such as myself can be of inestimable value. Five. Anything. _Anything._"

Doumeki's eyes popped; surely he didn't really mean _anything_. "Let me up. Remove your spell, and we will speak."

The caster did so watching, his own blue eyes wide, as the Hero sat up straight. Then he shot forward and took the man's face between his hands.

"You're considering it?" He pushed, fixing the newly mobile man with a shining, hopeful look.

The Archer ignored this. "You understand what you've promised me just now, you really do? Five favors, absolutely _anything_. Anything at _all?_"

The warlock was beside himself with excitement. "Yes, yes yes! Anything, I promise it!"

"Even if I asked for your death?" He fired back.

The inquiry was met with an harsh laugh. "Though I would recommend you spend your other favors before! Anything, Shizuka, Archer, _Ranshag no'mai seki_, Man of the Golden Eye, I promise you. _Anything_. Five times over."

Doumeki sat gobsmacked, so greatly was he astonished. He had never _heard_ of such a thing, in all his life, in all the stories he'd heard told by wiser and older Heroes of the Guild. In all those years of his boyhood that had been spent locked up in the expansive library, studying. Such rashness, such risky behavior was truly unheard of.

He looked at the warlock before him, really _looked_ at the man whose passion had brought a flush to his cheeks, a shine to his eyes that made them appear degrees lighter. His pupils were huge, and his chest moved with heavy breath as if he had raced a balverine.

Shaking his head, slowly, bemused, he asked in subdued voice, "Why? How can this mean so much to you?"

The young man beamed, catching his breath. He shook his head as well. "I really…can't say, Hero."

* * *

******Obviously you can see that this Watanuki is a little different from canon. It is completely intentional and--here's the bonus--relevant. It's also explained later on, so, yay. Also, a balverine, for those who have not played Fable, is a werewolf. That's about it. I'll add a link about it to my profile, for your reference.**

**Please review. Doesn't matter what you say :)**

**-Oceans**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The man gave his name as he made the moves to cast, and the spell Watanuki worked took only minutes. Suddenly half of Doumeki's realm of vision was fogged, cloudy, and slightly unfocused. The mysterious young man stared down at the small globe of incandescence cupped tenderly between his palms, radiating happiness. His fox rose up from its corner to sniff at it and thump its tails approvingly. The warlock made no move to stop him as Doumeki bent to retrieve his belongings, moving slowly, unsteadily, as his balance was precarious at best.

In fact, it was only after the door pulled shut after him that that caster began to move, standing up from his kneeling posture and stopping beneath the lintel to wave after the Archer, calling, blissfully, "Five!

"Five favors, you remember! I will!"

Watanuki's laughter followed him down the road until he was out of sight.

After that, Doumeki's feverish obsession with the Rose Cottage dulled to the point that the entire encounter--the bargain, the strange young man—was all but gone from his mind. Or so it would have been he was sure, if not for the fact that now six out of ten of his arrows missed their target. Plotting to regain his ability and save his reputation in one move, Doumeki retreated to the Guild to retrain himself. It was almost two months before he'd regained as much as he thought he was going to- three of twenty arrows, as opposed to his former, one out of thirty.

Two nights later, he took a quest to exorcize a man's home. It was foolish of him to accept it- spirits were not something he was confident in. Tales alone of the Grey House had haunted him as a child.

It came as no surprise to him when quest became difficult. He tried four different times- at dawn, noon, twilight, and midnight, the four times of power- to get inside the house and surprise the spirit. But the entity, an old crow of a woman, did not seem to adhere to any of the rules of haunting. She did not keep a sleeping hour, a period of inactivity, and the Archer knew that his purely unremarkable magic skills would not be enough in a fair fight. After a week of fruitless attempts, the owner of the house expressed desires to return soon.

Doumeki was sheepish. He felt the burn of humiliation like a brand on his face every time he spoke with his employer, and he didn't have the confidence to ask the Guild Master or another Hero for advice. So it was that, nine days after accepting the mission, he returned to the Rose Cottage to call on one of his favors.

Watanuki seemed amused by the request.

He had taken a seat in the grass near the dormant Demon Door, his hand unconsciously running down Mugetsu's back. His left eye glowed golden.

Doumeki fidgeted uncomfortably under the caster's absolutely focused, two-toned stare until he redirected it to an orange leaf in his hand.

"A waste, don't you think?"

The Archer shrugged. "I'll be sure to ask for something better next time. Besides, I am unfamiliar with your capabilities. How do I know what you can do?"

"If I can't do it then it doesn't count as one of your favors." Watanuki shrugged, flicking away the leaf, apparently done with his study of it.

Surprised, Doumeki hitched a brow. "Really?"

"Wouldn't it be dishonest to do anything else?" The young man's face twisted into a gently scowling, somewhat puzzled look, and he tilted his head. He didn't seem to like the question.

Doumeki wondered at this. But outwardly, he only shrugged again, and held out a hand.

"What do you have for me?"

And Watanuki smiled.

He gave him a roughly made glass sphere, filled with a smoky clear fog the same color as the stubborn ghost woman's belly. Mugetsu was bidden to lick it, and a soft pinch of light came alive in the center of the fog, pulsing with vitality. Watanuki told him to break the sphere on the door of house, and the ghost would move on peacefully. Doumeki thanked him and left.

It worked. Whatever it did, for he hadn't an idea. There was no flash of light; no screams of ghostly fury filled the air when he carried out the warlock's instructions. But the aura of sobriety that had weighed down on the home dissipated within moments, and owner thanked him profusely as his family returned to their home.

The next day he resolved to drop by and inform the spellworker that his crude glass ball had done its job, whatever it may have been, and a family had been readmitted to their home thanks to him. But the door was locked, and in the time he waited there were no signs of either the warlock or his strange pet, and he left a note between the door and the frame.

Doumeki did not visit the Rose Cottage again until, two full moons later, a message appeared on his pillow between the time he got into bed and lowered his head to his cushion. Scratched on an orange leaf very much like the one the warlock had played with between his fingers so long ago, was: _"Come give me a hand."_

Doumeki wasn't sure what to make of this. Did the man literally want his _hand_, now that he'd gotten his eye? Did he want assistance?

He was wary. He remembered all too readily how the smooth-tongued caster had talked him out of an eye. A silken, sinful voice, and that damn accent…Soon enough though, he'd convinced himself that this was not in fact the case, and the next morning he left the Guild for the Rose Cottage.

As soon as he turned down the bending road, he saw that something was wrong. Whereas it had been a dry, sunny autumn day in Greatwood, it was raining heavily on the short road. The dirt had been churned into a soupy, muddy mess that sucked at the Archer's boots. He pulled his hood low over his head and pushed through, finding a drenched Watanuki, his arms folded, glaring at the top of the forest canopy.

Somehow, the warlock heard the Hero's steps through the roar of the rain- Gods, it really was more of a flood than anything else, wasn't it? Doumeki had to yell over it.

"What is it you need?"

Watamuki shook his head irritably, stabbing a finger towards his ear to signal that he hadn't heard. Doumeki tried again with the same result. The caster rolled his mismatched eyes and yanked the Archer to him by a fistful of shirt. Leaning close, he shouted in the taller man's ear, _"I can't hear you, you dunce!"_

Doumeki frowned at the slur, but dismissed it with a roll of his shoulders. He leaned to reply, loudly, "I said, what do you need?"

The furious scowl on the young man's face relaxed, but did not entirely disappear. He gestured towards the spot overhead he had been eyeing before. Doumeki was forced to bend again to hear.

"The damn spell's worn off, and I wasn't the one who placed it. I'm not entirely sure how to restore it."

"But why is it raining?"

Watanuki growled. "A backlash. Such magicks come with little treacheries like this."

"What do you need my help for?"

"Spot me."

"What?!" Was the rain coming harder? Was that possible?

"_Spot me._ Stand beneath me and hold out your arms. Catch me when I fall!"

"When?" Doumeki's forehead furrowed.

"Yes. I'm bound to- I can't support my weight for long in this damned cloudburst."

Watanuki then produced a strange purple spark from the cubby beneath the booth. When he smeared it over his fingertips with his thumb, his feet began to lift from the ground. Doumeki watched, aghast, as the warlock rose up through the rain.

It happened very slowly, and the force of the oncoming surge sometimes pushed him down a few inches before the spell seemed able to persevere. Throwing his arms up to halt his accent when he reached the top, the warlock began to work. Squinting, Doumeki strained to see; all he managed to catch were flashes of white forearm.

Minutes passed, and the rain began to let up. A few more, and it had become little more than mist. Doumeki pushed his waterlogged hood back as Mugetsu shook moisture from his heavy coat and, high overhead, Watanuki's posture failed him. The Hero saw, and tensed his shoulders.

Watanuki fell.

* * *

**A Demon Door is a thing in the game; you have to solve a riddle or eat so many pies or whatever to get inside, where you find weapons and treasure and stuff. It's not very important. And the Grey House is a house filled with ghosts and undead skeletons and things. I don't remember why you have to go to the Grey House...or if you even _have _to go at all :)**

**Freshly edited. Tell me what you think please.**

**Oh, and, sorry for the cliffhanger.**

**-Oceans**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Mugetsu tracked his every move with hardened silver eyes, licking his fangs in undisguised threat as Doumeki laid the prone spellworker out across his bed, after beat of hesitation, began stripping off his wet clothing. The young man's lips were blue with cold. He shuddered and shivered in his sleep, fingers twitching towards Doumeki's warmth when it passed close.

The Archer coaxed a tiny fire to life in the hearth, and spread the caster's clothing over stones that would soon warm to dry.

He moved to stand, awkwardly, in the middle of the single room. He didn't know what to do with himself, so he pulled the bedclothes up to the young warlock's chin, feeling a bit silly.

Then, with a sigh, he stepped back and lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the floor by the warlock's head. Looking down to Mugetsu, the fox's head on his paws, the Hero nodded in Watanuki's direction.

"Think he'll take sick?" He mumbled, unwilling to disturb the quiet of the room.

The animal flicked its ears.

Doumeki sighed again, deeply this time, his chest swelling briefly with air. Moving stiffly, he peeled off his own sopping jacket, vest and tunic, and tossed it in the direction of the fire.

Bare-chested, the Hero shivered once, violently, and leaned back against the warlock's bed. He felt his body grow heavier as he slipped into sleep.

He woke again to a square of sunlight in his lap and Mugetsu stationed, whimpering, at the warlock's hand. As Doumeki shook himself awake and stood, the fox whined and licked the young man's fingers.

Doumeki touched the backs of his fingers to the warlock's forehead, guessed at his temperature. He'd never been particularly good at it, but as soon as their skin came into contact, he knew all that he needed to. The warlock was too hot.

He was burning with fever.

The Hero swore, and glared down at the fox as Mugetsu's rumbling growl filled the interior of the home.

"I won't leave him like this," He said to it, tone biting.

"But." He continued. "I'm no physician. I have to go to Bowerstone to get the medicine."

The animal chuffed at him, smacking him with four tails as it jumped onto the warlock's bed and snuggled against his side. It followed the Hero with its eyes as Doumeki strode around the little room, pulling on damp, musky smelling leathers and strapping his gear in place. He paused beneath the mantel and smirked at the cool-eyed fox.

"Take care of him," He ordered with a hard look, and smiled only after he reached the path at Mugetsu's pointy-eared reaction.

--

The path to Bowerstone seemed longer. The Archer felt as if the road stretched two steps for every one he took. Then the guards outside the town seemed to take their sweet time confiscating his equipment, the greeter wanted a bit more than their usual tit-for-tat conversation. And the _shopkeeper_, shouldn't he know where he kept his own stock? How did he keep customers, if he spent all that time looking for each item?

It felt like hours. Doumeki couldn't force himself to be still, and his foot tapped, his legs twitched like an idiot, impatient Novice. He almost skipped through Greatwood, struggling to pick a stride between a run and a fast walk.

In reality, he was away for less than two hours. The morning sun was still bright and new when the Hero pulled a three-legged stool to the warlock's bedside and painstakingly measured out the correct dose of the smoky, amber medicine. Trading a look with the fox, Doumeki gently angled the caster's head back and tipped the liquid off the spoon, aiming the stream down his throat. Watanuki coughed as Mugetsu nosed his cheek worriedly.

Doumeki sat back, frowning. His foot began to tap again.

He knew the tonic would work; he'd called upon its healing attributes himself before.

But the fever had clearly set into the warlock's slim body. His cheeks were bright as hot coals, and his breathing was abnormally heavy. Doumeki fidgeted restlessly on the stool, once reaching to push sweaty black bangs away from the warlock's face.

"Wake, now," He said breathily.

--

The Hero woke to coarse hair irritating his nasal passages. He sneezed once, blearily looking about himself and flinched back with a yelp when he recognized Mugetsu's quicksilver fur. The animal watched him moodily, kicking his back foot out into the Hero's ribs.

Watanuki laughed. He was seated on a short bookcase against the opposite wall, his hands resting on the bundle of the folded blanket in his lap. His eyes shined mischievously as he grinned at the Hero.

"Thank you muchly, Shizuka Doumeki. You have done me a good service, I can tell."

Doumeki grunted as he knuckled gritty sleep from his eyes.

"Was that not what you called me for?" He asked in a gravelly tone, though his voice was not as rough as the warlock's. His throat probably hurt him.

Watanuki smoothed creases from the blanket, shaking his head and smiling to himself. "Mm…no, it wasn't. I only asked that you catch me when I fell." He laughed softly at some private thought.

Doumeki rose slowly from the bed, mindful of his popping bones and stretching his arms over his head. "Well," he said, when they dropped back to his sides. "You are welcome, all the same."

"I ought to show you proper thanks,"

He attempted to wave off the thought. "Unnec-"

Watanuki suddenly appeared before him, standing close enough that the Hero's chest would brush him if he took an especially deep breath. His smiling face was turned up to Doumeki's

"-essary…" The Archer finished with a breath. "How did you…?"

Watanuki took his face into his hands and guided him down so they were almost eye-to-eye. "I am grateful, Doumeki." He said. His eyes wandered over the planes of the Archer's features, lingering on his mouth.

Doumeki tensed.

The warlock stood on his toes to leave an innocent kiss in the center of the Hero's forehead.

"I look forward to your future visits." He smiled, looking as if he was going to laugh.

* * *

**I don't think I have any notes about this chapter. You get three little sections, because I'm impatient to get to other parts :)**

**-Oceans**


	5. Chapter 5

**Before you read: Again, for people who aren't familar with the game, a balverine is a werewolf. There's information on my profile about them, as far as what they look like : )**

**Chapter 5**

It happened on a short, simple mission. Carry the trader's gold to her unfortunate brother in Bowerstone. He crossed through Darkwood, and stumbled into a small pack of balverines.

They were the usual breed. Covered with dark, rough fur that allowed them to melt into the shadows of skeletal trees and rocky crags; the only thing to alert him to their presence was the flash of bright eyes and long pupils. He counted five, before they howled and sprang at him as one beast.

One went down immediately beneath his cleaver. A second received a knife through its cheek and a series of broken fangs, but leapt for the trees before he could deal the killing blow. The three remaining on the ground circled, flexing long, claw-tipped fingers, showing teeth and washing their tongues over yellowed fangs in a foreboding picture. The largest was the most intelligent; the Hero spotted a tale-tell gleam in the powerful beast's eye. It commanded the others to stay back with a low, long growl.

But a balverine's bloodlust is undeniable, and one of them shook with it. It lunged for Doumeki's throat from behind, missed, and instead sunk canines the length of Doumeki's fingers into the meat of his shoulder.

The Archer's body stiffened with pain and he bit his tongue, even as he undulated and took off the monster's arm at an angle that bit deeply into its chest. It fell away, gurgling as blood spilled into its opened lung, and the knifed creature dropped from the tree and locked its jaws over its fallen packmember's throat.

The largest beast roared, furious, and it and the remaining balverine surged forward.

Doumeki brought his weapon up with cry, presenting the shining edge to the oncoming animal- which met it with a howl. The balervine bounced back and the Archer himself skipped to the side to dodge the packleader's sweeping claws. To no avail; the beast's talons pierced his leathers and raked down his back, to his hip.

Sweating from pain, adrenaline making everything he saw move slowly, the Hero jerked a second knife from his belt and tossed it, end over end, into the remaining packmember's eye- and hit. The handle shook with a _twang! _as it buried itself to the hilt in the beast's socket, dropping it with a last heavy keen.

The leader roared again, slashing at the wounded balverine feasting on its comrade. The monster fell back with a sharp whimper and disappeared into the infamous gloom of Darkwood, and Doumeki was left in the company of only two corpses and the single largest balverine he had ever laid eyes on.

The circling continued. He moved evenly, slowly away and around, the monster happily mirroring his movements. The scratches down his back and the bit to his shoulder throbbed, and Doumeki flinched at the icy burn of the balverine plague spreading into his bloodstream.

The packleader grinned at him, baring strong, bloodied fangs, and lunged.

* * *

**Hello, cliffy ;)**

**-Oceans**

**(Sorry if you got an email about chapter six. I did something stupid Dx)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Before you read: Again, for people who aren't familar with the game, a balverine is a werewolf. There's information on my profile about them, as far as what they look like : )**

**Chapter 6**

Mugetsu smelled the disease before it reached them, and ran for his master. Watanuki stopped hacking at the irksome thorny bushes, whipped sweat from his face, and began to ask what had the fox so excited.

But then he smelled it too. A reek, like particles of ice and rot that polluted the air gagged him and he leaned against the long handle of his scythe, coughing. Mugetsu growled and his front lowered to the dirt as his haunches rose and front legs spread, and Doumeki rounded the bend and came into the clearing.

Watanuki gasped. He dropped his tool and ran for him. "What happened?" He moaned, catching the Hero has his body suddenly toppled forward.

"Second favor," Doumeki croaked. His fingers dug into the warlock's arms, sure to bruise. "Bitten. Cure me."

A part of Watanuki went cold, analytical. "How long ago?" He questioned, moving the larger man to support him with his shoulder and directing him to the cottage's door.

"Hours…four, five."

The spellworker nodded curtly as numbers, ingredients, and rites few through his head. There were many ways to fight the balverine sickness; which to choose…?

He settled on one. Doumeki didn't like it, and Watanuki resolutely ignored his opinion as he began gathering the things he would need.

"We can't wait that long…" the Hero ground out from his seat before the fire. "I'll _change_ in a week."

Watanuki shook his head, only distantly listening. "No…there is a reason. While there are many ways to purge the blight from your body, all of them are painful, to varying degrees. Only some cannot be trusted not to kill the patient. This is one that I personally _know_ will work, and the pain will be manageable."

Doumeki glowered. He was obviously unconvinced.

But he sighed and asked, "Why do we have to wait so long?"

Watanuki flashed him a small smile.

"Because that's how the ritual works. We will wait a week, and then I shall halt the infection at its height."

"Its height," the fallen man rumbled dubiously.

Watanuki's smile turned grim; he knew the Hero would also be unhappy with what came next. He breathed in deeply. "During your initial transformation."

Silence met this admission. Watanuki chanced a look at the Archer and almost laughed.

"You look unhappy." He managed in a strangled voice.

Doumeki stared at him, exasperated, with eyes bright from infection.

Watanuki observed this. Biting the inside of his cheek, he sought out and appraised Doumeki's symptoms. Yes, a week should be plenty long enough. He asked to see the wound to be sure, but the man hissed in pain when he went to remove his jacket. Blood from the bite had dried and stuck the leather fast to his skin, and peeling it away stretched and further broke the scab. The warlock knelt to help him gradually pull it away, and when the first punctures came into view, Watanuki finalized his theory. He poked gently at it, minding Doumeki's flinching.

"It's an angry wound," He noted aloud. "And deep. The infection set in quickly…you're already displaying the signs." This he said as the pad of his thumb brushed beneath the Hero's right eye.

"Signs?" The man questioned wearily. Watanuki shuddered at the proximity and the vibration he felt in the other man's chest. He licked his lips.

"Uncommonly illuminant eyes," He grinned widely. "Your hair is changing color- it's difficult to be sure, in this light, but it looks to be taking hues of brown. It should grow thicker and coarser. Towards the end of the incubation period, your knees will swell and your fingernails turn black." He sat back on his heels as Doumeki gave him a doubtful look. Watanuki guessed at his thoughts.

"The rest happens during the transformation."

The Hero, faintly green, groaned and pressed a hand over his face.


	7. Chapter 7

**Before you read: Again, for people who aren't familar with the game, a balverine is a werewolf. There's information on my profile about them, as far as what they look like : )**

**Chapter 7**

The following week was hard for Doumeki. At the warlock's insistence (and threatening, when it looked like that alone wouldn't be enough), the Archer remained for the time at the Rose Cottage. Watanuki helped him dress the bite and wounds down his back, strangely happy when he announced that they would all scar. He slathered the lacerations with a green paste that smelled strongly of mint. Doumeki slept, sprawled out before the fireplace, which the spellworker too late informed him was Mugetsu's usual bed. So it was expected the next morning when he woke with a displaced and thoroughly miffed fox glaring at him.

Watanuki was up and about early, when the sky was still grey and the air still damp with dawn. Doumeki spotted him blearily from the window, at the booth, laboriously grinding an assortment of seeds to powder. The Archer, for the most part spent the day watching the warlock dart about, preparing and working on a thousand different things that all confounded him, and staring at his fingernails suspiciously. Watanuki laughed at him and told him he couldn't eyeball the sickness into submission.

The second day passed much the same. Mugetsu appeared to have come to a decision and chosen his bed over his distrust of the lanky stranger, as the next morning Doumeki came awake to find the nine-tailed fox's head and forepaws propped on his stomach, and it fast asleep. At lunch break Watanuki gave him a tonic with the command to "Drink it all." The medicine had a slimy, congealed texture, a noxious smell, and a color like bloody meat. Doumeki downed it slowly and with difficulty, but the warlock smiled when he handed back the empty bottle.

On the third day his gums started bleeding, and before the end of the night his jaw ached fiercely. The unexpected symptoms puzzled Watanuki, and he consulted a dusty, moldy book. After flipping pages and reading for less than a minute, the spellworker launched into a furious fit of what Doumeki could only guess was quite foul language in his exotic tongue. He refused to relate the cause of the tantrum.

Doumeki worried.

Changes that the warlock had not anticipated continued to set in. Before they started to blacken, Doumeki's fingernails lengthened and grew harder. His ears developed increasingly pronounced points, and he began to lose his appetite for most anything but protein. Mugetsu refused to come near him, and retreated to his master's bed.

He couldn't keep Watanuki's disgusting mixture down. This, more than anything else upset the warlock. The caster spoke less, did not laugh, and rarely smiled. Rather, lines drew themselves across his forehead and scowl took to his features that Doumeki thought better suited his own. He plunged into his preparations, neglecting his garden and forgetting to break for meals. The Hero watched as he raked a space clear of leaves and debris behind the booth, and staked out a circle with fire-blackened sticks. The warlock dug two small, shallow holes, one inside the stick-circle and one out, and drew a white line of salt around the sticks. There was a gap between the two ends in front of the outside hole.

He finished as the moon took the sky at the end of the fifth day. That night, as Watanuki washed the sweat from his skin with a damp rag, Doumeki professed his confusion. Why the sudden urgency?

"We've two days still," He said.

Watanuki's stare shone with a strange intensity in the meager light. Sighing silently, he replied at length. "…the infection was more than I had originally thought."

Doumeki's spine tightened.

"You will transform tonight."

--

Watanuki spoke true.

The convulsions began few hours later. By that time, Doumeki had been situated in the center of Watanuki's stick-circle. The warlock had fastened inch think bands of copper, halved by heavy silver, at the Archer's wrists, ankles, and neck, and had himself donned a belt burdened by several pouches, heavy with unknown things.

It started with every muscle in his body going impossibly tight for several long seconds. His arms folded to his chest and his chin tucked itself behind his knees, his bloody teeth bearing in a snarl. Then, with a disorienting speed, everything loosened. Racked by seizures, his eyes rolled back into his head and foam gathered on his tongue.

Watanuki watched with an uncharacteristically blank face, the only expressive thing about him being his trembling legs. When dark fur began to sprout and he stepped forward, the knife in his hand was steady.

* * *

**...I couldn't resist ending it there.**

**-Oceans**


	8. Chapter 8

**Before you read: Again, for people who aren't familar with the game, a balverine is a werewolf. There's information on my profile about them, as far as what they look like : )**

**Chapter 8**

Watanuki sliced as carefully as he could through the skin of Doumeki's lip, but time was essential and he had work to do before balverine jaws came after his hand. He moaned with sorrow at the blood that welled up, steaming with the energy of the transformation. Next he parted skin beneath those beautiful eyes, delicately along the spine of each ear, and at the tip of a sharply pointed nose. With deft moves he smeared the gore over the Hero's mouth, onto his teeth, into each eye, ear, and nostril.

Grunting with the effort it took, Watanuki bent the convulsing body over the inside hole and made an incision on Doumeki's neck so his own heartbeat sped the flow of blood from his body to the dip in the ground. When the bottom was covered, he heated the metal of the knife with a word and messily cauterized the mark.

Doumeki's bones made alarming _crack_, snapping sounds. The warlock yelped and stumbled out of the circle when the man's half-formed torso lunged for him. He stammered the right words, forcing them from his mouth, and dove for the ground to complete the salt circle. It plinked closed in the same instant the loudest, most grotesque _crack!_ sounded, and the color drained from Watanuki's face as the howl of a newborn balverines hit the night air.

The warlock gave the beast a melancholy smile, pushing sweaty hair back and leaving bloody smears on his forehead. "Cut it close didn't we, friend?" He offered with a shaking laugh.

The balverine rumbled in weary confusion. The salt barrier eliminated its sense of smell, and its own blood blinded it. Somehow still, though, its head followed the spellworker as he walked away to plunge his head into the rainwater barrel.

Shaking drops from his eyes, Watanuki knelt before the outside hole. The knife flashed, and he held his bleeding wrist over the dip. It didn't take much to cover the bottom, but his head swam as he seared the wound with hot metal. Blinking tears away, he dropped ingredients from his pouches and stirred them into the puddle of gore with a finger.

The mix of blood and herb hissed and shuddered, melting into the ground. On the other side of the salt trail and sticks, Doumeki's blood bubbled, popped, and steamed.

Watanuki peeked, and loosed a heavy sigh of relieve at the sight of the rosy fog. Despite the anomalies, and the warnings in his master's book, the rite was working correctly. The Archer would be human again come sun up.

--

Doumeki's body felt strange to him when he woke the next morning. His eyes throbbed in time with the beat of his heart, and his skin felt sensitive as if freshly grown.

Watanuki was jolted awake by the staccato beating of the Hero's fists against the raised salt-barrier

The cure worked, but Doumeki was left with a few, lingering signs of his infection. His hair for the most part remained dark, but was now veined with at least seven shades of brown by Watanuki's count. It was longer and shaggier, nearly reaching his shoulders unbound. The warlock argued him into submission when he grabbed it up in a handful and pulled it around, clearly intended to chop it off, and he tied it away from his face in compromise. His left eye had returned to its normal pale, golden color, but the right still shone with a lupine glow. The former was, in comparison, notably dull. This the warlock flippantly waved off as a side-effect of their initial bargain.

Happily, most of his five senses were considerably sharper than they had been before. But Watanuki's favorite change was the one apparent in the Archer's body chemistry—in the man's scent. Before, the Hero had smelled earthy, like leather and steel. Now, underneath all of that was something…_smoky_. Difficult to describe, and hopelessly intoxicating.

Doumeki was persuaded to stay for the rest of the day and the coming night, and resigned himself to enduring Watanuki's newfound habit of grabbing and clinging to him. To his arms, his neck, his waist—whatever the warlock could reach at a given moment. To start it made him twitchy and uncomfortable, until he noticed how incredibly bright and sincere the young man's smile was when he was allowed to flatten his cheek against Doumeki's shoulder. The Archer decided to leave him be then, and before he left the next morning he didn't notice it anymore.

Word spread with its usual speed (that is, as fast as mouths can move) of the Archer's change. Theories were formed, few that even approached the truth, but aside from the Hero himself only the warlock in the clearing was aware of the actuality. It did not occur to Doumeki to plead for the caster's vow of silence; it never crossed his mind that the warlock would tell anyone.

He returned to the Rose Cottage a few weeks later, when a break between clients presented him with more spare time than he knew what to do with. Watanuki received him happily, resuming his grappling as if no time had passed. As Doumeki helped with daily chores, the warlock told stories of his origins in the snowy mountain peaks, of the exotic language taught to him by his sun-darkened mother of the southern sands. In return Doumeki spoke of his grandfather, of his family's eastern roots and their idol god that was strange in Albion. He stayed for longer than he had first intended, and the hour by the time he reached the Guild was almost indecent. Watanuki did not go inside that night, choosing instead to make a pillow of Mugetsu's belly and watch the fire Doumkei had built burn. He licked his lips where they tingled from the kiss the Hero had permitted him to place by his eye.

* * *

**Well, there's one mini-arc over and done with...This chapter *has* been scanned for errors, but it was months ago, and if I wasn't too lazy to do it again now I'd no doubt find more, along with things that need tweeking. I'll get around to it, I promise. Until then, please forgive anything you notice. **

**-Oceans**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The slump in business did not last, and within the month Doumeki was hard again at work. A year passed before he saw either the clearing or the warlock again, and in that time he learned to take advantage of symptoms left to him by the balverine sickness. He learned that his stride, while always quiet had become exceptionally so, carrying him over dry leaves as silently as packed dirt. His hearing and smelling made it many times harder to be taken by surprise in the dark by bandits or monsters, and besides that, with his glowing eye he was more easily able to discern shapes in the night. Though this last skill he did not casually employ. The incandescence of the eye gave him away to those around him, and after more sharp points than he would've liked found their way to him through the gloom, he took to covering it with a narrow piece of leather. He grew in both renown and skill as a Hero of Albion, and was hired for longer and more difficult quests.

Close eighteen months had come and gone before he began to think that he may have found reason to call upon the inhabitant of the Rose Cottage again. Following three weeks of unrewarding work on one particular quest, he dwelled more and more often on his remaining three favors and the warm welcome he was sure to receive from the warlock. But just as he was about to pack his things and happily journey from dreary Witchwood, he caught a break in town. A trader who had till then been visiting in Oakvale told that he had seen the client's disgruntled nephew slinking about the outskirts of the rainy town, the client being a citizen of Knothole Glade who had recently come into good fortune with the reading of his deceased brother's will. The dead man had bequeathed all of his tidy takings to his brother in exchange for the insurance of his widow's wellbeing. His son, an unruly ruffian who was known for causing trouble around the Glade, was only left a few pieces of furniture and a box of letters, all of which he put to the torch shortly after receiving. It had come to the surprise of few when the inheritance disappeared in the night. Theretofore, the likely guilty nephew had not been spoken of. With a new trail to pursue at his feet, Doumeki shoved off thoughts of the little cottage in the clearing and the man sure to be found therein. Three days after he began investigating the nephew, the client's two daughters went missing from his home.

Doumeki had little patience for twatty family loyalties then, and insisted that the client tell him whether or not he considered his nephew capable of crimes against the missing girls. Eventually he admitted that, yes, he suspected he might be.

The Archer looked for the girls or the nephew, whichever he found first, alone for a fortnight. Following that he bid the mayor organize a search party and, armed with flaming pitch and what weapons were to be found, the next day the group ventured into Witchwood. On the third night of this, they found the nephew, the young women, and the inheritance.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

It was winter when he returned. The trees for the most part had been reduced to naked, shivering skeletons by the harsh winds of late winter. Icy fingers of wood scratched at Doumeki's worn leathers mournfully, and he shivered, partly from the cold, partly from the hollow song the breeze raised from creaking branches. Mostly from thoughts of what he had since seen his last coming, weighing heavy on his mind.

Frozen dirt and snow crunched beneath his boots as he limped around the bend. The Cottage stood as always, consistent, steady, its front obscured by piled snow, its roof caught in a similar predicament. The booth's flattop was covered, but he could see the purple cloth was gone.

Doumeki heard Mugetsu's barked alarm from inside the home, and felt warmth spread through his weary body when the door opened, and light spilled from inside, and the warlock's shape appeared in the way.

--

Watanuki saw immediately the weight of exhaustion in the way Doumeki moved. He supported him with a slim shoulder, helping him to drop easily onto a pillow placed before the hearth. He didn't speak when Watanuki began to undo the buckles and laces securing his jacket, nor when, finished with that, the warlock removed it and the thin tunic beneath it, leaving the Hero's torso bare. He hung the pieces of clothing from a line in the corner over a basin to catch the drops fell, and left the man's equipment nearby. Watanuki watched a pot of water heat over the fire and when it was warm, he took it off and wet a washing cloth in it.

Doumeki remained silent and still as stone as Watanuki knelt by him and washed his chest, his back and neck. The spellworker tenderly took his cheek into his hand and bathed the warm cloth over his face, gliding gently over closed eyes, across his cheekbones and his forehead. Then, setting it aside he hummed softly. Wettting his fingers in the cooling water, he positioned himself behind the Hero and wove the dripping appendages through the Hero's dark hair.

Watanuki pressed his face against the back of Doumeki's neck and puckered his lips in a sneaky kiss. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" He asked softly.

Doumeki turned his head to the side, and Watanuki felt something like grinding through the contact between them. It was the stone coming to live, moving.

"A man murdered two girls for gold." His voice was rough, scratching against his throat as he spoke.

Watanuki waited, moving his hands to the hold the taller man's sides.

"Blood was…You could smell it in the air, through the rain. Their mother screamed when we returned with the bodies. And all because his father didn't leave him any money."

Doumeki curled into himself, bending over his lap, elbows on his knees. Watanuki scooted closer so he could hug him tightly from his seat at his back. He pressed another kiss, this one more obvious, to his spine, and asked, "What can I do for you? Speak what you want from me, please."

"This." Came Doumeki's voice, muffled by his crumpled posture. "Comfort. Just…stay with me, please."

Watanuki smiled dourly, rubbing his cheek against the hot skin of the Hero's back. He sighed.

"This I can do."

--

Eventually the warlock stood, stretching muscles stiff from sitting so long, and guided the Heroto his feet. He led him with both hands to the bed, climbed in after him and, cuddling into his chest, threw one arm around him.

The next morning dawned cold and dry, no matter the snow on the ground, and Watanuki woke alone in bed, curled up in the warm hollow left by the Archer's body. Smiling as he listened to the man's heavy, rhythmic steps receding from his home, he pressed his nose into the blankets and, inhaling the thick, musky scent trapped in the cloth, drifted again into sleep.

* * *

**The end of chapter nine was supposed to be foreboding, you know? With the "Dun dun duuuun" in the background and all. I'm starting to wonder if only reason it seemed like that was because...it's me. Oops.**

**Tell me what think? ****Also. Editing, again. Hasn't been...redone.**

**-Oceans**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Doumeki eased back into his usual mentality following the tragedy of the Knothole Glade mission. He chose his quests with much more caution, and kept track of how often he worked.

He was not eager to descend again to such a sorrowful state.

Thinking of his behavior that night in the cottage brought color to his cheeks. It shamed him that he had allowed the warlock to witness him so beaten, but more than that was how his mouth went dry when he thought of those feather-light kisses, and of the warmth and weight of Watanuki's body in his arms.

Time continued to pass as it had before. Weeks and months bled together as Doumeki was called here and there in the name of the Guild. Five months disappeared in a blink, and the Hero found himself in the snowy northern mountains that the warlock had named as his birthplace.

The quest that took him there was predicted to be an especially long one, and so far that had proven true—Doumeki had left the Guild for Hook Coast three weeks before, from the Coast to the northern lands, and his employers promised a journey to last another four months lay ahead. The commissioners were a ranger group that was traveling to relieve companions in the mountain villages. They detailed horrific accounts of gigantic white balverines, ice trolls, and nameless beasts that roved the mountain ranges and occasionally came to terrorize the sparse populations. Listening to their tales and boasts of valor, the Archer often wondered to himself why such men requested an escort to accompany them along their way, but he never found opportunity to put words to his confusion.

Not to insinuate that he looked for one very hard. It was not often wise to question the one paying the gold in a given transaction.

Going by the map the five men had loaned to him, there were as many small townships dotting valley beneath the mountains; one man per village. They told him, his job was simple: to sleep lightly. The men involved had been making the same journey for decades, and they assured him that the trail was familiar to them all.

Doumeki was distinctly less than fond of the cold, and the brutal northern lands were not much more than icy, biting air, that sometimes blew into their cloth shelters on a sideways wind. He was firmly instructed that to live in the white, winter wilds they traveled through was to stay dry at all costs. This command he heeded to the best of his abilities, though he was confounded in part by it. Stay dry in this devilish place, where water in a form covered the very ground so thoroughly his eyes could not see it? Impossible, as he saw it, but he did as told. The days passed at agonizingly slow rates, but the weeks spend by, and blended in his mind. At each village they came to, one man remained behind as another joined the group.

The stories and tall tales flew, again and again with the arrival of each new ranger, and as steadily they seemed to grow taller. Doumeki could scarcely believe these myths that his companions passed off as truth, and while he was careful not to offend, he made no moves to mask this opinion. The men made a game of attempting to sway his disbelief, and they passed many nights around the fire in such a fashion. One evening a new addition to the group began a local legend, concerning a charismatic witch woman and her apprentice. He explained how the woman was beautiful, tall and pale, with limbs long like a man wouldn't expect to see outside his dreams, and how her apprentice was just as she. But the boy was odd; fierce, aggressive and off-putting where the witch was sensually coy and convivial, and he did not get on with the children of his town. His mother had died in his birth, and his father was _believed _to have been lost in the violent winds of the white mountains. The witch had appeared one day, and taken him into her home.

"Well, pulled him kicking and screaming, anyway," The storyteller amended while the others laughed raucously in the background.

She trained him in her arts for years, and it was through her subtle efforts that the boy was easily inaugurated into the townspeople's lives. Here the burly man stopped for a dramatic pause, and the burlier men around him chortled, but Doumeki was not aware of them. He was focused intently on every word that came from the man's lips.

The boy of his tale rang hauntingly similar to a certain warlock he held in high esteem.

The ranger continued on, seeing that he had the Hero helplessly hooked. He resettled himself as he spoke, his words accompanied by an air that suggested years had passed in the story.

One morning the witch packed up her boy and some of their things, and told the townspeople that they intended to camp out in the coldest reaches of the mountains. Of course, the people protested, but the witch would not hear their warnings. She scoffed at exaggerated renditions of monster attacks and bloody hunks found in the mornings after, and waved at them has she followed the boy up the mountain trails. They were gone for a long time. Eventually the people gave them up for dead.

Then a morning came when the boy was found, collapsed at the town's well, ragged and worn and carrying only a single pack. He was sick, delirious and dehydrated, and the townspeople refused to listen to his stammered explanations as to the whereabouts and condition of his witch woman teacher. Without her, you see, the townspeople soon began to remember their old intolerance of the boy, and by the time he was well again they had lost all patience. The afternoon his fever broke, he was pushed out from their midst, and was left to his own devices.

Doumeki, still digesting the man's tale, refused to humor the group any longer and was silent for the remainder of the night.

* * *

**We're getting awfully close to the end of what I've already written...**

**-Oceans**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

There was still melted snow in the creases of his clothing when he reached Watanuki's cottage. He had not stopped upon reaching the Guild, taking only a few painful minutes to fetch food from the kitchens and leave the heaviest of his gear in his room. For weeks since the ranger's retelling the story of the witch woman and her mysterious apprentice had dogged Doumeki's thoughts like a hungry beast. Practically since the ranger had uttered the word _boy _he had imagined Watanuki in his mind's eye, for the warlock _was_ long and pale and beautiful, but the account that had followed had almost proved to some small, stubborn part of him that the boy and his warlock were one and the same.

He wanted to know it all. He wanted to hear the story, if it _was_ his, from the spellworker's own mouth, in his own sweet voice and accented vowels. He wanted to know if he hurt because of it, and he wanted to be a balm for the pain he had taken for granted he would find.

Doumeki's thoughts were as sharp and focused as one of his arrows, and he never considered that his target—the damn warlock—would not be there once he crossed the distance between them. When he came to a halt, panting, he could only look down at the unmoving door handle in his hand in astonishment.

The man was not home. Doumeki almost howled with frustration and disappointment.

For the whole of the night and hours into the next day, the Archer waited for the warlock to reappear. Alternating between agitated pacing and standing by the door, his eyes scanned restlessly for even a sign of Watanuki's fox.

His efforts went unrewarded; the young man he wanted to see so badly did not mystically appear, as he had led himself to believe he might. Hunger and a dogged weariness deep in his bones forced him to heave himself to his feet eventually, and after leaving a hasty message cut into several leaves shoved beneath the door, he sought refuge in the Bowerstone tavern. There he washed directionless passions away with watered drink and slept the rest of the day and the following night.

* * *

**Short chapter.**

**-Oceans**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

In all his memory, the Hero could not recall such overwhelming exhaustion, like a shadow on every thought and move he made. Once his stomach touched the softness of his rented bed, the noise from the tavern downstairs dwindled to something less than the shuffling of a particularly timid mouse, and he was gone.

When he woke, sunlight spilled into the room and warmed his boneless body like no blanket in the world, and he noticed with some grim humor that he had not moved once in all his long sleep.

He didn't want to get up, and for a long time he didn't. But the past day's tension began to build, to tease his consciousness, and he eventually gave up on fighting it. The Hero wandered the streets until the sky glowed orange, and returned to the tavern for the things he'd left there.

The large upstairs room had sheltered two other customers besides himself the night before: an older man who had assumedly left early in the morning, and a young woman who remained behind. She sat silently on her bed, discretely counting out a weighty bag of coins. Watching her fingers flick the money swiftly and with ease, Doumeki tried to remember if she had been part of the small crowd gathered around the game table before. With a nod in her direction, he retrieved his pack moved for the stairs.

The Hero's hazy thoughts of hot food and the Guild's cafeteria cleared away like so much smoke when, having reached the bottom floor, he laid eyes on the shoulders of a very dear friend bent over a tanker at a corner table, swaying like a ship at sea.

His eyes went round with surprise, and then just as suddenly narrowed as he, scowling, crossing the tavern in long steps to somewhat roughly take Watanuki's shoulder in hand. After a beat the warlock's head lolled on his neck, swinging back with drunken fluidity and fixing him with a blank stare. His tablemate said something scorching and rude, but Doumeki didn't hear it. An angry heat came to his face as the Hero realized the pupils he looked down into were much, much too large—the shiny black up to the edges of the young man's eyes, his usual gold and blue reduced to thin rings.

The warlock blinked several times, and in those few moments managed to cleanly convey different amounts of confusion, suspicion, recognition, and joy before he shot up from his seat with a cry and tightened his arms around the taller man.

"_Aiya, tus'gondrey mischa doir oe!" _He squalled happily, nuzzling his cheek into The Archer's throat. Doumeki paused at the flood of foreign words, suppressing a shudder at the resonance he felt from them, and leveraged the clinging spellworker away. He bent to peer into Watanuki's eyes and wonder distantly at what could have caused the dilation, but the young man seemed unable, or unwilling, to hold still. Doumeki caught one of his hands on its way to his face and startled when he saw how it shook, badly, in his grip. Watanuki smiled at him, unsteady on his feet, and managed to slur "_Sesiya ha, no'mai o'seki misut rangshag, misut omai ranshag," _before tumbling forward into the Hero's arms and passing out.

* * *

**On _top_ of a crummy filler chapter two weeks ago, late chapter is late. Sorry guys, I'm struggling with ideas for the next arc.**

**...and I _hated_ writing this scene. I don't know why, but I did.**

**-Oceans**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

His head pounding like a drum and his eyelashes gummy and reluctant to part, Watanuki came awake in his bed. For a moment, he tracked grains of wood in the ceiling and tangled one hand in the thatch of fur—Mugetsu's ruff—as he tried to remember the course of events that had led to such a flattening headache.

But thinking was too difficult with so much pain. Watanuki gave it up with a shallow sigh, and began to arduous process of getting himself to his feet. He retained a white-knuckled grip on his bedpost as he, mumbling to himself about his _aohola's_ hangover remedies and where he might find them, waited for his sense of balance to reinstate itself. When the world felt somewhat steady beneath his feet, he looked down to Mugetsu, seated near his feet.

"Do you know where she might have put them?" He asked, ignoring the light of amusement in the animal's eyes. The fox made a chuffing noise, and gestured to the bookcase with its nose.

Watanuki grunted. "But which one, is the question."

That was when he noticed the little puddle of greenery at the foot of his door.

--

The Archer was unhappy.

His investigation concerning the character of Watanuki's company the night before had turned up nothing reassuring. His body was still sore from the stress of his recent mountain climbing, and his head throbbed from whirling thoughts of the ranger's story and suspicion aimed towards the man from the tavern. But beneath it all there burned a hot, angry emotion he wasn't sure of, and a building frustration like a simmering witch's brew. He was tired, and no one saw fit to give answers to his questions.

So consumed was he by his thoughts that he was only a few paces from the Rose Cottage when he finally looked up to the warlock blocking the door, and the slender hands that held out a familiar bundle of leaves.

The Hero stiffened, remembering his desperate message. His ears burned with embarrassment.

The warlock noticed, of course. He gave him a small, comforting smile, and glanced down at the handful. Silence reigned in the little clearing, until Watanuki cleared his throat.

"You wanted to speak with me?" He prompted easily.

"Yes." The Hero fought the heat in his face as he considered his next words.

"Who was that man, last night?"

The question came on its own. Doumeki winced.

Watanuki rocked back on his heels as if blown by a sudden wind, blinking.

"Him? What about him?"

"Who was he?"

Well, in for a sheep, in for a cow.

"An acquaintance," The warlock cocked his head curiously. "Little more."

"I don't think he had anything good in mind for you." Doumeki growled, the heat in his own voice surprising him.

Watanuki blushed, forcibly clearing his throat. "I don't either. He was rather forward with the placement of his hands, as I recall…" His eyes wandered, and made their way to the leaves he held, momentarily forgotten. The spellworker frowned at them—then remembered with a shock what exactly they were. He prepared to speak, but Doumeki beat him to the punch.

"Did he mistake you for a woman?"

Watanuki gave him a funny look. "What? No."

"Yet he still…?" Doumeki was confused. "Why would he…-?"

He allowed the inquiry to trail off. He had heardof it; two men, but he'd never particularly thought about it. There were men and women for a reason, wasn't there? His grandfather's teachings of their god had not mentioned much in the way of intercourse at all.

Doumeki floundered, for a moment.

Watanuki was still giving him that look, now with an additional underlining of consideration that made Doumeki fidget. At length, he dropped his gaze with a sigh and held up the leaves.

"Care to discuss these?"

Doumeki grimaced.

* * *

**If you're confused by what happened in this chapter, blink back to chapter 12 :) That should make things a little clearer....**

**-Oceans**

**(Totally unrelated) Star Trek fans! There's a petition for the new films to include some kind of homosexual relationship between two (ideally) main characters! Care to support? ;) The link is in my profile if you're interested.  
**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15  
**

The warlock raised a tall fire in the hearth to light the little room and, as Doumeki told him of the mountain mission, the ranger, and his story, pulled down cups and heated cider over the fire. All the while Watanuki felt the Hero's eyes on his back.

He was impressed. The rangers had gotten most of it right. He told Doumeki as much.

The Archer, his cup at his lips, only said, "So it was you," in a low tone.

Watanuki sighed deeply from his seat on the floor beside the other man. He said, quietly, "Yes, it was me. Myself and my _aohola_, Yuuko. The rangers have a tendency to exaggerate the truth," the young man fingered his bottom lip as his spoke, eyes staring dully into his cider. "But it seems mine…mine they have done right by."

Watanuki edged closer to the Hero, craning for warmth. "I've told you my mother taught me the _goa'chya loe mayrsu_, the tongue of sands, and that is true. She took sick while she carried me, and died of fever when I was very young. My father I am told passed of a wasting sickness.

"My…my teacher was good to me. Eccentric, and two-faced," He made an exasperated face that settled over his features like an old habit, and directed it towards the fire. "A drunkard and a good-for-nothing lay-about, but good, somehow, still."

The warlock's fingers trailed through Mugetsu's fur, the fox's head in his lap. Doumeki drank slowly from his cooling cider, but eventually he couldn't distract himself with it any longer.

"What happened on the mountain?" He pushed.

Watanuki's fingers paused, and began massaging again.

"Mm. The mountain." He put his cup down with a muted _thunk_. "When we were on it, Yuuko told me that she had died years before. And that she still 'lived,' after a fashion, thanks to the sacrifice of a dear friend. We climbed until we were far from the town, and she said, 'Now Watanuki, I've been expecting this, I've seen it coming from afar for so long I'm going with absolutely no regrets, whatsoever.'"

"I asked her why, and she smiled and said, 'Because I'm going to leave you _this_.'"

The warlock gave Doumeki a soft look. He rose to his knees and moved to sit directly in front of him, his toes precariously close to the fire. He said, "She did this to me," as he lifted a single finger, and laid its tip lightly on the crease between the Hero's eyebrows.

Doumeki did not look away from Watanuki's mismatched eyes.

The caster swallowed, softly, but still audibly.

"I felt a pain, and everything went dark. And when I woke again, her clothing and pack where in a pile in the snow, and I was alone."

He dropped the touch and moved back to his previous seat, albeit closer still.

"I wandered and got lost."

The Hero looked down his arm at the warlock and, with a sigh, raised it so Watanuki could move against his side. He felt the young man's cheeks lift in a brief smile.

Watanuki spoke again, his voice muffled into Doumeki's clothing.

"It was a little while before I meddled out what it was she'd given me, and I'm still…I'm still not positive. But I think that she gave me part of herself."

Doumeki frowned, confused. Looking to ask for clarification, he looked and—

Started, upon seeing a line of wet down the warlock's cheek.

He pulled the young man in tighter. "Watanuki-"

"No, it's alright." He said, voice steady, into his ribs. He paused for a long moment, and said "It confuses me sometimes. I think she only meant to…to give me her knowledge, of magic, but…well. I got more than that. Sometimes it's difficult…to tell, whether I'm still myself, or if—if I'm her."

* * *

**No comments for this chapter...  
**

**-Oceans**

**Spiegel, I'd be really happy to help you with that confusion :) Feel free to e-mail or PM me so we can talk.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16  
**

Springtime trading season came, and Doumeki was inevitably drawn away with work. Watanuki found himself hard pressed the fill the spare hours, now that a trip to Bowerstone wasn't simply a trip to town anymore.

The warlock was decidedly disappointed in his former drinking companion—and himself. He was _sure_ he had sufficiently guarded his cup.

Suppose not.

He thanked the gods that the Hero's concern had kept him at the Cottage, prevented him for going after the misguided (or else just stupid) young man. The Archer's greater renown and the number of quests that came with it allowed him to pick and choose his jobs, but it had not always been so. Doumeki had done things in the name of the Guild and his employers that Watanuki knew he was less than proud of. He wouldn't want to cause the Hero to do something he would later regret.

Spring meant rain, and because the shield that had once prevented heavy rainfall from turning the clearing into a soupy mess was still…not quick up-to-code, Watanuki spent more time than he cared for inside, cleaning. It had been a while since the Cottage had gotten a good dusting, and the elusive scent of rotting herbs was beginning to wear on his nerves.

But sorting and shuffling things around could only occupy his attention for so long, and sooner rather than later…

…he was bored out of his mind.

He was relieved when the messenger came.

Less so, understandably, once he received the actual message.

* * *

**I have no excuse. Sorry for the length of this update-I just wanted to get _something_ posted, and figured a midget-chapter would be better than none at all.**

**-Oceans  
**


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